Unconquerable Callie (11 page)

Fort Kearney proved a disappointment. Instead of the protective walled fortress Callie had expected, she found ramshackle sod buildings. But what Fort Kearney did offer was mail service and an opportunity to purchase food if one could afford the prices. Callie mailed a long letter home assuring her aunt she was fine and that she would write more when she reached her destination. There wasn’t a mention of Seth. She hoped her aunt couldn’t read between the lines and see the quandary Callie was experiencing. But one thing was certain, gone were any thoughts of turning back. She had gained back the courage she’d momentarily lost at the Missouri River and she accepted her growing feelings for Seth and only occasionally fought against them. And if at night she was filled with sadness of what couldn’t be, she pushed the melancholy thoughts away and waited for the morning light and his figure at the head of the train.

Becky and Tom had gratefully accepted the offer of one of the single men to share his wagon. He’d been delighted when Becky told him she would take over the cooking. No longer would he have to eat his pitiful attempts.

The supply post at Fort Kearny was a wooden building. It and other similar ones surrounded the central parade ground. Their fortified walls offered some protection. The soldiers were, for the most part, unshaven with uniforms in different states of wear. Many sported patches. But, as a whole, they were courteous and welcomed the wagons as a relief from the boredom.

There was only one main problem. Snakes abounded. She’d heard several stories of them slithering through walls into beds of the soldiers. Many of the soldiers looked so young, she immediately felt sorry for them. How awful to go to sleep, not knowing if you would have unwanted company in the form of a snake. She shuddered.

“Phyllis,” Callie said, as soon as the wagons were circled for the day, “how would you like to bring some smiles to these boys’ faces?” She smiled conspiratorially. “And we could make some money at the same time.”

Phyllis’ eyes lit up. “Callie Collins, just what do you have in mind now?” She smiled, then added, “Count me in.”

“Let’s bake cookies. I’ll bet my best boots these boys haven’t had a homemade cookie in months. Years even. Our cookies will give them something to spend their money on besides whiskey. We’ll split evenly whatever’s left over after paying for the supplies. Deal?”

“You bet.” Phyllis’ excitement was contagious.

As they set to work, not for the first time, Callie longed for a real table. Using the top of a box low to the ground made her back hurt. Still, that didn’t slow them down. Using both of their Dutch ovens and one borrowed from Hattie, they mixed and baked letting the mouthwatering aroma fill the air and advertise for the makeshift bakery. She was doing what she liked best, baking. And if the conditions were less than desirable, so be it.

Before long, soldiers lined up, waiting for the cookies to cool so they could walk off eating one while several others lined their pockets. The more enterprising men brought small canvas bags and filled them with the still oven-warmed treasures.

She and Phyllis worked liked demons, mixing, stirring, baking, and selling.

Seth noticed the crowd of soldiers surrounding Callie’s wagon and hurried over. What was going on? His concern quickly changed to one of disbelief as he saw a frazzled Callie count out twelve cookies for one young man and quickly pocket money.

Seth shook his head and chuckled. Callie was a whirlwind, stirring up dust wherever she went. Her face was flushed from the fire’s coals and she wore a smudge of flour on her forehead. Her exquisite hair was pulled back and hung down her back in one long braid. She was smiling, talking, and totally enjoying herself. He’d never seen a woman so beautiful and enchanting as his unpredictable Callie. His eyes followed her every movement.

Callie raised her head and beckoned him over.

“Cookie?” she asked, the devil dancing in her eyes.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He grinned, taking the warm treat. “How much, Madame Baker?”

Callie curtsied. “Free to all handsome men, sir.”

“Handsome, huh?” he teased back, taking a large bite of the savory cookie. He closed his eyes and chewed. “Callie, Callie” —he shook his head—“these melt on my tongue. I believe they’re better’n the ones you brought to the council meeting, if that could be possible. You could make your living selling cookies,” he joked.

“I plan to,” Callie said before her eyes went wide. She quickly put two more cookies in his hand and before he could respond, moved back to her makeshift table, not looking his way again but giving full concentration to the baking.

Hours later, with aching backs and feet, she and Phyllis knelt on the floor of Phyllis’ wagon and emptied out their apron pockets. The more money piled up, the wider Phyllis’ eyes grew. Callie set aside the baking costs. What she had envisioned as a few hours of baking and selling had grown into a day’s work. There were still men, many of them returning for the second time, milling around the wagon when Callie and Phyllis announced the last batch. Earlier in the day, the commander of the fort had stopped by and thanked them for bringing a touch of home to the men. Callie felt guilty about taking their money until he assured her they lost their wages too often to poker and whiskey.

“Phyllis,” Callie said, hearing the awe in her voice. “I can’t believe we made this much money.”

“I can’t either, Callie. I don’t think I’ve seen this much money in my lifetime.” Phyllis reverently touched the pile in front of her. “Are you sure this is right? This is my share?” Her face was full of disbelief.

Callie chuckled. “It’s your share, all right, Phyllis. That’s yours and this is mine.” Callie scooped up her earnings and shoved them back into her apron pocket.

Phyllis hugged her. “This will help us so much. Jacob will be surprised. He laughed when I told him what we were planning and gave me a pat on the head and said to have fun. Ha,” she snorted, “wait until he sees how much the fun added up.”

Callie laughed, said her goodbyes, then stepped from the back of the wagon . . . into Seth’s arms.

Gripping her small waist in his large hands, he swung her down and said, “Thought I’d better walk you back to your wagon. This fort’s no place for a woman alone, especially for one with money in her pockets.”

Callie chuckled. “Seth, Phyllis and I never dreamed we’d sell that many cookies. It’s like they were starved for something baked. I feel guilty taking so much of their money, I can’t help it.”

“Well, don’t,” Seth said with a smile. “Consider it an act of kindness. Because of you two, a lot of the men are sick from eating too many cookies instead of drinking too much of that swill that passes for whiskey. You did them a big favor.”

“I like that way of thinking much better, Seth McCallister,” Callie said.

They walked side-by-side to her wagon, not speaking, but at ease with the silence.

As they came closer, Callie made out the shape of something leaned up against the side of the wagon. She closed the distance, then rubbed her hand across the object’s square, flat surface.

“Seth?” Callie turned back to the man watching her. “It’s a table top.” Her voice was soft with wonderment.

“Well actually, it’s a table, Callie. Let me show you.” He reached for a canvass sack hidden behind the top and withdrew four sturdy legs. Callie stepped back as he laid the table on its top and fit each leg into four chiseled holes. They fit tight and snug and when each was in place, Seth flipped it to stand upright. For once in her life, Callie was speechless. The table was the exact height for rolling out a pie, or kneading bread.

“I had it made for you today,” Seth said. “It’s pretty rough, but the fort’s carpenter said it will take a beating. The legs come off and can be stored in that canvass bag along with the top. It’ll be no problem to tie it to the back of your wagon. Shouldn’t take up much space or be in the way.” He stopped, as if suddenly embarrassed.

“Oh, Seth,” Callie said, her hand on her mouth, her eyes moist, “I love it.”

“I’ve seen you bent over baking on that board and swore that some way I’d see you got a table. Anyone that can cook like you, Callie, deserves a table even if it is a bit ungainly and lopsided. It should hold up under your rolling pin.” The bashful expression made him look like a young boy.

Callie’s heart stuttered. She knew then that she loved this kind and generous man. Words of thanks froze on her tongue.

“You do like it, don’t you? Cause if you don’t we can just leave it here. Someone will find a use for it,” he said.

“Don’t you dare touch my table, Seth McCallister. No, I don’t like it. I love it.”
And you
, she wanted to add. “This is the nicest gift I’ve ever received. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Well,” Seth said, obviously relieved, “one of your dried apple pies sure could go a long ways to convincing me.”

“The very next chance I get, I’ll roll you one out on my wonderful table.” She touched the tabletop with one hand, shaking her head in thought.

Before he could stop himself, Seth moved closer to her and with the tips of his trail hardened hands gently caressed the side of her face.

Callie held as still as a deer in hiding, Seth’s fingers warm and comforting against her soft skin.

“Callie,” he whispered, his voice sad, “what am I going to do about you?”

Dropping his hand, he turned away and disappeared into the night.

“Seth,” Callie hesitantly called after him, “I’ll have coffee ready in the morning.” She waited, fearing his answer.

“I’ll be there.” The reply came soft on the evening breeze.

Callie’s relief was great when they reached the Platte River. It was shallow, crooked, and muddy, and they crossed it with ease.

Seth told her that often, in the fall, the Indians fired the dry grass on the prairie. Now, though, the prairie grass was several feet high. When Seth rode through it, only his hat showed. The oxen ate and ate. And while firing the dry grass lessened the dreaded fear of prairie fire, the only trees or bushes growing were the ones struggling for life on islands in the Platte River.

One day, Seth stopped by Callie’s wagon and said there was something he wanted her to see. Curious, she took his offered hand and swung herself up behind him. Seth was silent as they rode to an overhang where the valley below stretched out before them. He helped her down, and, still holding her hand, quietly led her forward. Callie paused, frightened. The ground below her feet was literally shaking. There was a low rumble that sounded like thunder beating against high mountains but there were no mountains and the sky was clear. Seth crouched at the edge of the precipice and Callie followed suit. The closer to the ground she came, the more intense the shaking. And then she saw the reason. Her eyes widened and her breath expelled in a low sound of disbelief. No wonder the ground was shaking. Running below her, their shaggy heads bobbing with the rhythm of their feet, was a wall of bison. There was no end or beginning.

“Seth,” she whispered, “how many do you think?”

Seth shook his head, his eyes never leaving the herd. “Hundreds, maybe even thousands,” he said. “Too many to count.”

Mesmerized, they watched the migration as time stood still. Finally, he touched her shoulder and motioned with his head back toward the horses. Callie had completely forgotten the wagon train moving ever forward. She and Seth would have to ride to catch up.

They were silent, both awed, lost in the sight they had just witnessed. Then Seth spoke. “Well, Henry will be happy with that sight. I expect he’ll show up tonight with some buffalo steaks. Fresh meat will be welcome and we’ll probably lay over a day to dry some jerky. Nothing like jerked meat to round out any scarcity of food.”

Callie turned her head toward the man. “Do you expect food to run out, Seth?”

“It’s possible, Callie. Anything’s possible. I’ve learned to expect the worse then if it doesn’t happen, I’m pleasantly surprised. So far we’ve been fortunate and have had plenty of water and game. If it doesn’t rain soon though, the grass will turn brown and the rivers will dry up to mud.”

“I’ve been wondering about that,” Callie said. “I’ve been even more miserly with my use of water. I should be fine; it’s others I worry about.”

“I do, too,” Seth said. “And I agree, you will be fine, but will your oxen? Oxen tend to go a little crazy if they’re hot and thirsty.” Seth didn’t want to scare her, but he’d seen what water-crazed animals could do. He’d promised himself to keep an extra special eye on Callie as they crossed these dry Nebraska plains. He got back onto his horse and helped her up behind him, conscious of her arms around his waist.

Neither spoke as they caught up to the train.

Callie was lost in thought. She’d made plans when she was outfitting her wagon for what she would do when and if the scarcity of water became a problem. She’d spent time talking to some old timers who relished telling her tales of oxen stampeding in the heat, killing and injuring as they went. They’d also enjoyed passing on different pieces of advice for keeping these large animals cool. Callie listened and formed her own plan. She only hoped she would never have to give it a try, but if she should, she prayed it would work. She hadn’t shared this with anyone for fear of being ridiculed.

When they reached her wagon, Seth lowered Callie to the ground, and with a nod and a smile rode on ahead.

Sure enough, that night Henry Henry rode in, his horse loaded down with buffalo meat. The men in the camp were excited and wanted to leave immediately to go hunting. Plans were made for a hunt next morning. A wife or older child would drive the wagon until the hunters returned. Those who had no one to fill in for them would be forced to forgo the foray. Seth wanted to keep moving with the plan to lay over tomorrow and take care of the meat from today’s hunt.

Early next morning, the men rode out, excited as children on Christmas morning. The women watched them go, unspoken worry in their eyes. Many were husbands that knew nothing about hunting, especially animals of that size. Tales had been told last night around the campfire of buffalo stampedes, buffalo hunts, and buffalo turning to charge or trample their antagonists. But nothing was said. Each woman knew that they had to depend on their man to provide for them in this wild country. Each man knew he had to prove himself.

Callie watched Seth ride out and when he turned in his saddle and caught her eye, she gave him a nod of approval and pride. He had nothing to prove. And for a moment, she allowed herself to imagine she belonged to Seth McCallister and was watching him ride into the distance, her thoughts and caring equal to those of the women standing beside her.

With a mental shake, she brought herself back to reality.

“Ladies,” she called out. “How about we show these men what we’re made of?”

Everyone turned to face her.

“Callie?” Phyllis asked.

“Let’s show our men we can handle our wagons with the best of them! Not only handle them,” she said, pausing, a mischievous look dancing on her face and in her eyes, “but out do them. We’ve been making good time. But today, let’s make more miles than ever before. Let’s make twelve miles before we circle the wagons for the night.”

Her words were met with groans and mutters. “Twelve miles? Twelve miles?”

Callie put her hands on her hips and spread her legs. “Anybody game?” she challenged.

There wasn’t a sound. Then, from the back came a voice, “I am.” A slight woman stepped forward. She looked like a puff of wind would blow her away. “I’m up for a challenge. I may not look it, but I can hold my own with a team of mules. Twelve miles it is.” She spit out the last words as she looked over the crowd of women.

Hands went up slowly at first then faster, higher, and with more confidence. Choruses of “I am,” and “Count me in,” rang out.

“Okay, Ladies,” Callie called, “twelve it is. Grab something to chew on cause we won’t be stopping for lunch. Girls,” she said to a group, arms linked, standing off to one side, “will you help? Mothers are going to need help with the little ones. Will you pitch in so we don’t have to slow down?”

“Yes,” they shouted, grinning at each with delight to be a part of the adventure.

“Thank you,” Callie smiled. “Five minutes to ‘Wagon’s Ho,’” she called out.

Callie ran back to her wagon, grabbed a biscuit and some bacon, then put her oxen to yoke. She took up the long prodding stick and went to the outside oxen’s head. Taking hold of the big animal’s halter she pulled and prodded them until she had broke formation of third in line. Unerringly, she moved past wagons two and one until she was at the lead. The two women she passed smiled and waved her past.

When she was settled in the lead, a little in front of all the wagons, she jumped up to the wagon’s seat and stretched to her fullest height.

Callie’s voice rang out clear and unafraid. “Wagon’s Ho!”